Ambush
by usa123
Summary: Desperate to get their Soldier back, Hydra sends Rumlow after Bucky. When Steve is critically injured during the ensuing fight, will Bucky go back to Hydra in order to save his friend's life? *Not Civil War compliant.*
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This fic was written before the _Civil War_ so it contains no spoilers for the film. It's in the same thread as all my Bucky Barnes recovering stories which means Bucky willingly sought out the Steve after the events of _The Winter Soldier_ and is now learning how to be a human again with the team's help. This story takes place about a year after his return.**

 **It will be five chapters in total, most of which are already written, so I'm hoping to update every few days if the stars align!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel, the Avengers, or any character from the Captain America series.**

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"Are you sure about this, Buck?" Steve asked from the passenger's seat of the incognito sedan they had borrowed from Tony for the afternoon. Steve was currently leaning over the back of his seat so he could rifle through the many grocery bags piled in the back.

Bucky huffed out a long exhale through his teeth as he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. "Yes, Steve," he repeated for the umpteenth time. "It's good. I've had it before."

Steve pulled an overflowing brown paper bag into his lap and, after reorienting himself in his seat, began to dig through it. "It just doesn't seem like—"

Before Steve could finish his sentence, there was a harsh screeching sound followed by a thudding metallic crunch that threw them both to the left. Bucky had less than a second to process what had happened before his head smacked into the side window and a thick fog took over all cognition.

In the moments that followed, Bucky tried to make himself move but his aching brain refused to pass the impulses on to his leaden limbs. He heard disjointed sounds—screaming, crashing, spurting—all filtered through a cloudy haze as if he were back in a soundproof room. He felt warm liquid on the side of his face and, eventually, shooting pains in his ribs. He saw faded colors spinning, twirling—things his addled brain couldn't comprehend.

An unknown amount of time later, he heard a harsh metal screech which jarred him back to a semi-conscious state. Then he heard a thick ripping and felt a warm sensation on his shoulder. In his daze, Bucky could do nothing but react.

His metal arm swung up to bash the warmth and he heard another cry—this time he was cognizant enough to recognize that it had come from somewhere to his left. Now in more control of his body, he scanned the area around him to identify any possible threats. Biting back nausea as the world spun uncomfortably, he saw four men dressed entirely in black outside his open car door, three armed, the unfortunate fourth holding his face and cursing furiously. This was enough for his fight-or-flight reflex to kick in, the adrenaline bringing a much-needed edge to his blurry vision.

Bucky threw himself out of the car, staggering to stay upright on unsteady legs. Still too loopy to formulate a decent plan, he gave into years of his Soldier training and began to swing: patterns, combinations and blocks coming to him almost without conscious thought. He grabbed the barrel of the closest weapon, twisted around it, then drove it backwards, right into its owner's sternum. Bucky released the assault rifle with his left arm then swung his metal wrist in a vertical arc, smashing through the plastic visor and crushing the man's nose. As the goon dropped the weapon, his hands flying to his face, Bucky stomped on the man's foot, hearing a sickening crunch, then kicked backwards, sending the goon flying and himself stumbling in the other direction to regain his balance.

He fumbled for a split second trying to get the rifle braced against his shoulder, then fired at the other two men, who had just barely had time to readjust their sights. Both went down, unfortunately not dead; his aim had been a little off thanks to the blood dripping down his face and obscuring his view...and the fact that he belatedly realized the men were wearing Kevlar vests.

"Oh, Asset!" a cruel voice sang.

That was wrong. Names were important—names gave identity. "The Asset" was not a name: it was a title, a mantle worn by people before and after him. That wasn't who he was anymore.

"My name is Bucky!" he growled, whirling around angrily. The swift motion caused the world to tilt uncomfortably and he was forced to shift his stance wider, his feet shoulder-width apart, in order to stay upright. When his vision began to clear, his stomach dropped to around his knees, bringing about a new wave of dizziness, as his injured brain finally remembered he wasn't the only person in the car.

Even through his slightly blurry vision, he could positively identify Steve hanging limply between two masked men. His friend was completely unresponsive, blood coating almost every inch of his person, his weight being entirely supported by the two men awkwardly gripping his upper arms. A third man stood behind Rogers and rested the barrel of another assault rifle against the back of his head.

"Ready to go home?" this man sneered, motioning with his free hand to the Hydra logo emblazoned on the sleeve of his jacket.

"No," Bucky shot back with more bravado than he currently felt. He knew these men only wanted one thing: to take him back to the base, back to the chair, to wipe him, freeze him, and turn him back into a weapon.

Fear lancing through his system, he quickly scanned the situation, looking for any possible escape, but was unable to come up with a plan that got them both out safely; in his current state, there was no way he could take out the three agents before one fired and Steve was far too close to them for Bucky to take that risk.

"Well it doesn't seem like you have much of a choice," the third man replied, shoving the barrel of the rifle into the back of Steve's head with some force. His friend's head lolled forward and he let out a soft groan. "Drop your weapon," the man barked, turning his attention back to Barnes.

With curses flying through his head, Bucky slowly, cautiously, laid the rifle on the ground then straightened up.

"Push it away," the third man ordered.

Bucky reluctantly nudged the rifle out of arm's reach with his foot, awkwardly shifting forward in order to stay completely upright. Then he heard a loud clink, the sound driving knives through his temples, and slowly looked down to see a pair of reinforced handcuffs, at least a foot long, drop at his feet.

"Put them on."

A wealth of painfully clear, unwanted memories of what had happened to him when he'd previously worn the cuffs flashed through Bucky's throbbing brain. "No," he said before he'd even realized his mouth was open.

Thankfully, no weapons were discharged, but the man did press the barrel of the gun into the side of Steve's neck, his finger tightening ever so slightly on the trigger. "Put. Them. On."

Barely breathing, Bucky knelt, his hands slowly reaching for the cuffs.

"You miss your old place?" the man taunted but Bucky blocked him out and focused on Steve. From his position on the ground, he had a better look at Steve's face which was swollen, bloody, and gushing. He could also see more so than hear the very slight movement to Steve's chest, signalling that his friend was indeed still alive.

As if sensing he was being watched, at that exact moment Steve's eyes slipped open and the corners of his mouth lifted.

Bucky instantly knew this wasn't some random gesture: Steve wanted him to know he had a plan. With all the variables in play, said plan could only be one of two things, both of which were very dangerous and likely to get Steve killed in the process. It wasn't a risk his friend should be taking, even if it meant Bucky ended up back in cryo, but unfortunately Barnes didn't have the luxury of trying to talk his friend out of it. Besides, Steve would go through with the plan without him so Bucky knew he could either agree and do his best to ensure they both survived, or do nothing and watch his friend die trying.

It really wasn't a choice.

He swallowed hard then gave Steve a barely perceptible nod as a ice cold fear shot through his system, both for his friend's safety and his own.

"Well, get going Asset," the third man said, jamming the gun into Steve's neck again.

Rogers screwed his eyes closed and for a painfully long second he didn't breathe. Then, without warning, he threw his arms forward, crying out in pain as he dropped out of the two agents' grips. As soon as he hit the ground, he reared back and kicked at the legs of the two that had been holding him. In that same second, Bucky dove forward, grabbed the rifle he'd been forced to abandon and fired three times.

The Hydra agents crumpled, screaming, as Bucky's bullets flew true.

Bucky had only a second to glance at his friend before more men began pouring from the back of the vehicle that had hit them. Bucky sprang to his feet, automatically laying down suppression fire while Steve grabbed the third man's assault rifle and used it to leverage himself upright. Rogers only staggered once before he regained his balance and started shooting left-handed, using his right to support the barrel.

Bucky heard a sound behind them and saw two of the men he'd taken out earlier reaching for their weapons. Now that his vision was much clearer, he delivered kill shots without a second thought. He spun around to fire again at the oncoming mob and heard an empty click. Not knowing where additional ammo was, he threw himself at the Hydra agents, punching, kicking, clawing and disarming as many as he could, literally fighting for his life. Behind him, he heard Steve's gun click empty before he saw his friend throw himself into the fray as well.

The Hydra goons attacked in a horde, not at all like the fight scenes in those cheesy movies Steve loved, every one of them out for a piece of Captain America and the (former) Winter Soldier. In the beginning, the fight was fairly evenly matched, Steve and Bucky managing to take down the goons with relative ease, but then Steve's momentary burst of adrenaline began to wane and he began to favor the right side of his body, barely putting any weight on that leg and tucking the same arm close to his body whenever possible.

Bucky could hardly blame him considering Rogers' side of the car had taken the full brunt of the collision. Honestly, he was more than a little surprised his friend was still upright. Barnes just set his shoulders and took up the slack, ignoring the aches in his own body and giving himself over to instinct, to years of training, hoping that would be enough to get them out of this alive.

Eventually, one of the soldiers seemed to notice Steve's lopsided posture and went to kick at his good leg but Bucky threw out his arm, almost falling over in the process, and just managed to stop the Hydra agent's blow from connecting.

"Thanks," Steve mumbled, knocking the man out with a sweeping elbow.

Bucky didn't have a chance to respond as he was charged by a goon wielding what looked like a cattle prod. He quickly and efficiently separated the man's shoulder, despite the fire racing through his own as he did so, and tossed the prod to Steve, who began wielding it with almost deadly accuracy.

They had almost completely taken out the second wave of Hydra agents when a gunshot rang out.

Bucky kept fighting, assuming Steve had found a new weapon, until he heard an evil cackle that stopped him dead in his tracks: it was a sound he'd heard many times back at Hydra, one the mind wipes had never managed to erase, one that preceded pain, agony and torture.

It was a sound he would never forget.

Dread shooting through his body, he punched another Hydra agent with enough force to shatter his jaw and did a quick inventory. Realizing _he_ hadn't been injured, he whirled around just in time to see the shocked expression on Steve's face and the blood gushing from a hole in his upper left chest.

As Steve's knees buckled, Bucky forgot about everything going on around him and sprang forward, catching his friend before he hit the ground. He dropped to his own knees, pulling Steve's head into his lap and applying pressure to the entry wound with his left hand.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man clad in solid black body armor with a white "X" spray-painted on the front of it jump out of the van and land lithely on the ground, a smoking rifle in hand.

"Hello Asset," the man—Rumlow—said gleefully, training the weapon on both of them.

"Shut up you son of a bitch!" Bucky shouted as he pressed both hands harder against Steve's pectoral. The bullet had (probably) missed Steve's heart—it was more a prayer than a statement—but had definitely pierced his left lung, judging by the way his friend was struggling to bring in air, his breaths more pained gasps than life-sustaining inhales.

"Stay with me, Steve!" Bucky ordered as years of Hydra-mandated first-aid training began to kick in; after all, an asset was no good in the field if he bled out from every minor injury.

He had just pulled his right shoulder back, ready to shrug off his jacket, when he felt a warm circle burning against the back of his skull. "Get up," Rumlow demanded.

"Not until he's okay," Bucky shot back, his voice somehow strong in this time of panic. Beneath him, Steve groaned loudly and began to thrash, trying to get away from the pressure on his chest.

"You've seen that wound before," Rumlow replied evenly. "Inflicted it, I'm sure. You know he doesn't have long."

As if on some sort of macabre cue, Steve coughed harshly, spewing blood into the air, lines of pain etching themselves around his mouth and lungs. "Don't...Buck!" he sputtered, his pupils dancing around, unable to focus. He choked again, his body curling in on itself as the harsh motion tugged on his new wound.

"Save his life and I'll come with you," Bucky found himself saying, without hesitation. It would be worth it, as long as Steve survived. He was the one the world needed anyway; as far as the public was concerned, they'd all get along much better without the Winter Soldier.

Bucky could almost feel Rumlow's surprise in the way the barrel slid slightly across the back of his head. "Willingly?" the Hydra agent asked, tightening his grip on the weapon.

"No…" Steve gasped, scarlet staining his teeth, as his eyes fluttered closed, though his chest continued to rise and fall at an uneven cadence.

Barnes gritted his teeth as more of Steve's blood bubbled through the plates on his hand and his friend fought to bring in another breath. "Willingly," he ground out.

The metal disappeared from his scalp and he heard Rumlow take a step back. "We're watching you," the man warned, another agent coming around in front of Bucky and training a shotgun on the prone Rogers.

Bucky hurriedly peeled off his jacket and pressed it hard into the wound, eliciting a small groan from Steve. "He needs an ambulance. Let me call S.H.I.E.L.D."

"No."

"He's dying you bastard! Our deal only works if he lives."

There was a moment of silence while Rumlow considered this, far too slowly for Bucky who was painfully aware of every irregular breath Steve took, hoping it wouldn't be his last. "Fine," Rumlow finally agreed.

Within that same second, Bucky leaned forward so he was pressing his left forearm against the entry wound and pulled his phone out of his pocket with his right hand. He tapped the emergency button and swiped through the second number, leaving a thick trail of blood across the screen.

"What's up Bucky?" Natasha asked after the second ring, not bothering with the pleasantries, a fact today for which Bucky was incredibly thankful.

"Steve's been shot," Bucky glanced around and quickly gave her the cross streets. "It's bad. Hurry!"

"Barnes, what are—"

Suddenly , the phone was ripped away from his ear. "That's enough," Rumlow roared, smashing the device into the ground and stomping on it with a combat boot. "Let's go."

"We have to wait—" Bucky was reaching for the hem of Steve's shirt to rip it into strips so he could secure the jacket until Natasha got here when he felt a sharp pain in the side of his neck and the world went fuzzy. Whatever they'd given him wasn't quite enough to knock him out completely, but it was enough to make him lose conscious control of his body.

From there on, he only got disjoint images and sounds: sirens, moving, cold things around his arms, pain in the back of his head, cursing, then running. Why the hell were they running?

The next thing he knew he was being jostled into an upright position. He saw a flash of red, heard a woman's voice, saw a silver glint facing him. The sensation of being at the business end of a weapon jolted some adrenaline into his brain, focusing his cognition just for a moment.

Natasha was pointing a Glock at him. Well, not at him, persay—he felt something cold and metal against his head and a rough grip around his shoulder, like a hug, but without the warmth or happiness a hug from his friends usually brought—at the person behind him.

He saw Nat's lips moving but heard no sound. He focused with his remaining strength and managed to make out her saying, "Put. The gun. Down."

"You won't shoot him." Rumlow seemed so sure.

Bucky knew better.

A thin smile came to his lips and he might have even huffed out a small laugh. He saw Natasha smirk and knew his message had been received, seconds before he felt a hot white pain in his abdomen and his world faded to black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the wonderful response to the first chapter!**

 **Just a heads up, there is some blood and violence in the middle of this chapter but it's nothing more graphic than you'd see in the Disney MCU. Natasha is on a mission to rescue her boys and isn't going to let anything get in her way.**

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Natasha Romanoff was sitting in the common room of Stark Tower reading one of the recommendations from her book club. Her friend had touted it as a riveting action-packed thriller but so far Natasha hadn't found it to be anything of the sort. After one more completely unrealistic chapter, she sighed, threw the book over the back of the couch, and sunk back into its plush covering, wondering who had allowed that book to see print.

Needless to say, her phone ringing was a welcome distraction.

"What's up Bucky?" she asked pressing the phone tight against her ear to filter out some of the white noise in the background.

"Steve's been shot!" Bucky shouted, his tone one of true panic.

"Where are you?" Natasha asked as she sprang to her feet and grabbed her jacket and gun from the side table.

By the time he had recited the coordinates, she was already jabbing the button for the emergency elevator.

"It's bad. Hurry."

Her heart sunk into her stomach but she forced her emotions away so she could accurately deal with the threat. "Barnes, what are—" she began but before she could finish, the line clicked dead.

"Barnes!" she shouted as she jumped into the elevator, which quickly began to race toward the ground floor at non-regulation speed. She cursed in Russian as she received no response.

"JARVIS, I need the Ambulance," she announced, referring to the fully-stocked, bulletproof vehicle sitting in the Tower's garage. It had been outfitted specifically for the team and contained everything they might ever need on a mission: bags of their individual blood types, suped-up drugs for the superhumans, extra hearing aids for Clint, a spare pair of pants for Bruce, equipment to unlock Tony's suit if JARVIS was disabled and more. It was also a fully-stocked armory in case the situation required force.

"It is ready to go, Agent Romanoff," the clipped British accent replied.

"Alert—"

"I've also alerted the team and send the coordinates to their devices. St. Matthew's has already been called and I am currently attempting to get a hold of Doctor Cho."

Natasha nodded her thanks and finished mapping the shortest path to the cross streets Bucky had given. As soon as the elevator doors slid open, she sprinted to the van, yanked open the door and slid inside in one smooth motion. She twisted the key right, the engine starting immediately, and peeled out of the garage, the siren on the top immediately beginning to wail.

Not long after that, she spun around the corner closest to the intersection and slammed on the brakes as she saw the now v-shaped car Steve and Bucky had taken to the store sitting perpendicular to the flow of traffic. A large armored van with a bashed front grill sat a few feet from it, smoke billowing from the engine block, and the ground around the crashed vehicles was littered with black-clad bodies. Based on the outfits she had seen Steve or Bucky wearing this morning, she knew none of the bodies were theirs.

She quickly checked that her Glock had a full magazine before grabbing a second handgun from the rack hanging from the side of the van and sliding it in her ankle holder. Then, she filled her pockets with extra ammo, strapped on her Widow's Bites, grabbed the medical backpack and jumped out of the van.

Not knowing exactly where Steve and Bucky were, she followed the trail of black-clad bodies into a small alleyway where she found Steve lying on the ground, his whole body jerking as he choked on the blood welling in his mouth. She took a quick scan to ensure none of the men splayed out around the Captain were still conscious then hurriedly dropped to her knees beside him, realizing only after the fact that she was kneeling in a pool of his blood.

Natasha turned Steve's head to the right to let the built-up fluid run free as she pulled the bloody compress, which she belatedly recognized as Bucky's jacket, away from Steve's chest. She threw open the backpack and quickly yanked out a package of QuikClot which she tore open with her teeth. After quickly wiping away the excess blood with a pack of gauze, she pressed the sponge hard against the wound.

Steve cried out as the clotting agent came into contact with his skin, his back arching harshly off the ground. He fought to get away from her but in his current condition, she was easily able to avoid his flailing limbs.

"I'm sorry Steve," she muttered as she repacked his wound with additional gauze, hearing his ragged inhales and suspecting the bullet had nicked his lung. In his current condition, it was too much of a risk for her to do the same to the exit wound (assuming there was one) so she settled for securing the sponge with strips of tape, hoping the supersoldier serum and gravity were working together to somehow clot any hole in his back.

As she did this, she took stock of his other injuries. Besides the lung and the fair share of bruises and lacerations she could see through the ragged holes in his clothes, she noticed that his right arm was hanging awkwardly and had resisted movement during flailing so she suspected it was either broken or his shoulder was dislocated. From the way his right leg was straining against the seams of his jeans, she guessed the same was true for his leg. That combined with the bloody gashes on the right side of his face, which fortunately looked surprisingly superficial, lead her to deduce that he had been in the passenger's seat, which meant he had taken a majority of the impact during the accident and only served to ratchet up her concern.

"Nat?" Steve croaked as his spasms subsided, barely managing to crack open his eyes.

"Yeah, Steve, I'm here," she said, taking a quick scan of the area and counting the lifeless bodies strewn around. If she'd known the threat had eliminated, she would have brought the gurney from the ambulance and escorted him to the hospital herself. Right now though, she'd have to go back for it which would leave Steve defenseless or wait for the rest of the team or the paramedics to arrive. Not for the first time, she cursed the fact that she'd been the only one in the Tower this morning as everyone else was out getting supplies for the party.

"Where is Bucky, Steve?" she asked after a second, a sinking feeling in her chest. There was no way Barnes would have willingly left Steve, especially in this condition, which meant he'd either been abducted or turned back into the Winter Soldier.

"Bucky!" Steve's eyes flew open and he piked, trying to get up. She immediately threw her right arm across his shoulders, her left across his hips and leaned forward, hoping that was enough to get him to lay flat and not tear the wound larger. "Went with...Rumlow. Saved...my life," he ground out, his chest heaving with the effort. "Bucky," he repeated, expending a huge amount of energy to look directly at her.

A small wave of relief washed through her system as she recognized what he was saying, that Bucky was still himself and that the Soldier hadn't been activated; however, it quickly disappeared as she parsed the rest of his sentence. "Rumlow's alive?" Natasha cursed, leaning harder on Steve as he continued to struggle.

Suddenly, he went still and his hand reached out to grab her forearm. "Help...him," he croaked, a pleading expression on his face.

"Steve, I can't leave—"

"'S...an order," he muttered seconds before his body went slack.

Natasha cursed again, her hands diving for his throat to feel for a pulse, finding it too slow, too uneven, but present. Thankfully, she heard real sirens in the background, approaching quickly, and knew they could help Steve better than she could.

"Fine, Rogers," she grunted as she dug into the backpack and came up with a beacon which she immediately activated and tucked under Rogers' arm. Then, she rose to her feet, Glock in hand and, after zipping closed the backpack, swung it onto her back, being sure to arrange it so she could still access her other weapons uninhibited. Barnes had failed to mention what sort of shape he was in but, considering the condition of the car, she was sure he would need medical attention as well.

Her own beacon on so the rest of the team could follow, she sprinted down the alleyway looking for any signs of life, stopping when she heard one man groaning slightly. She knelt down beside him, grabbed his jaw to keep him from biting down on his false tooth, and pressed a gun into his chest.

"Where is Rumlow going?"

The man sneered and tried to bite down anyway so Natasha calmly moved the gun to his right shoulder and fired. He screamed in pain and thrashed so wildly that she had to sit on his hips, kneeling on his wrists, to keep him pinned.

"Where is Rumlow going?" she repeated, pressing the gun again over his heart.

"I want a deal."

"I'll let you live," she shot back, her eyes flashing dangerously.

The man considered this for a painfully long moment then nodded. "Old ice cream parlor," he said then rattled off the address. "Now save me!"

Natasha smirked then whipped the grip of her weapon across his face, knocking him out, before she sprinted back toward the intersection where the accident had occurred. The gunshot wound she had inflicted was by no means lethal so the man would survive long enough to be taken into custody and treated properly.

As she ran onto the main street, she again caught sight of the van that had T-boned Bucky and Steve. It was large enough to hold all the bodies she'd seen so she doubted the attack team brought a second vehicle. If it was still there though something must have been wrong with it, which meant Bucky and Rumlow were either on foot, which she doubted considering the condition Bucky would been in and the fact that Rumlow would be smart enough to restrain him, or they'd commandeered another car.

She considered where the parlor was and how long it had been since Barnes had called. Given typical traffic conditions, there was no way they had arrived yet. But they had to be close. Since the Ambulance was build for functionality not for speed, she was going to need something faster if she wanted to beat Rumlow to the Hydra base.

She heard the humming of a motorcycle and stood in the middle of the right lane, holding out her SHIELD id and weapon out high. The rider visibly glanced at the carnage in the other two lanes then, somewhat reluctantly, slowed to a stop.

"I need your bike. SHIELD business," she said, pulling the motorcyclist off the minute the bike began to idle.

"SHIELD doesn't exist anymore!" the man cried but it was too late: Natasha had already mounted the motorcycle, revved the engine and taken off for the ice cream parlor.

She arrived at the base twenty minutes later, parking a block away and approaching on foot to avoid early detection. There was no activity in the front parking lot but, as she peered into the alleyway, she saw a man clad in full body armor, pulling a pliant, unresisting Bucky from the backseat of a Focus.

Despite her efforts, the Hydra agent must have heard her coming for he quickly pulled Barnes in front of him. The former Soldier, who was restrained with SHIELD's supercuffs, barely registered the action, his head lolling against his chest.

Concern, this time for Barnes, flashed through her system but was overtaken by a surprising burst of betrayal as she positively identified Rumlow through the eye slits in his helmet. She had gone on many missions with Rumlow back at SHIELD, had trusted her life to him on more than one occasion. That trust had not come easily and she was surprised by how intensely she still hated him, especially considering that she though he'd been killed a few years back.

It took everything she had to force back her feelings and to refocus on the current situation but she managed to train her gun evenly at the pair, seeing Barnes perk up ever so slightly. "Put the gun down Rumlow. You have no way out."

"Yes I do," Rumlow sneered as he jammed the barrel of the weapon against Bucky's head. "You're looking well, Red," he added, dragging his eyes up and down her body. "Not being with SHIELD seems to suit you."

"Shut up Rumlow," Natasha spat. "You and I both know you don't have a play here."

"Au contraire," Rumlow motioned to Barnes with the hand wrapped around the former Soldier's shoulders.

"The Avengers are on their way now," Natasha continued as if he hadn't spoken, her keen eyes taking in every detail of his armor, looking for chinks. "The best thing for you would be to Put. The gun. Down." She moved her finger on the inside of the trigger guard, the safety long since clicked off, to prove her point.

"You won't shoot me," Rumlow stated. "Not while I have your friend."

Barnes shifted slightly, his head rolling to the side enough for Natasha to see the smirk on his lips.

She smiled herself, knowing he was okaying her to do exactly that, and pulled the trigger, hitting both of them in the low abdomen. It was more of a guess than an exact science but from what she could see from the side of the torso armor, it should have hit Rumlow just below where the vest ended.

Barnes groaned and fell forward, Rumlow letting him as his grip loosened in surprise. Now Natasha had an unobstructed view of the red blooming beneath the two plastic buckles of Rumlow's gear.

"You shot me!" he spat, raising his own weapon to fire at her.

But he was too slow. Natasha had already squeezed off a second shot, this time hitting him directly in his exposed throat.

Rumlow crumpled to the ground, blood spurting from his neck. She hurried over and kicked the gun out of his hand, training her own weapon on him in case he attempted a last stand.

"Barnes!" she hissed, hoping to elicit some sort of reaction from the downed supersoldier, but got only silence in response.

"You...killed him," Rumlow gasped, his grin bloody and horrible, before his eyes rolled into his head and he slumped against the pavement.

She was fairly certain he was dead but, having been burned by this before, she did her diligence by cautiously bending down and feeling for a pulse in his neck. When she found none, she wiped her fingers on his armor then hurried over to Barnes, who was still face-down on the ground, blood leaking out of the exit wound at an alarming rate. She grabbed another sponge of QuikClot and applied it, adding a thick layer of gauze to keep it from contacting the ground, then flipped him over and examined his front.

It was a bad wound, she immediately knew, too high in his abdomen. He needed medical attention STAT.

"Barnes," she shouted but his eyes remained closed. She tore open a new package of clotting agent and quickly wrapped the front before leaning on the newly bandaged wound with her entire weight.

It couldn't have been more than a few minutes before she heard footsteps behind her and shifted so her right arm was still pressing against Bucky's abdomen, her left pointed her weapon at the newcomers. She was hoping they were S.H.I.E.L.D. but she had no idea how many men had been packed into the van to begin with or how many Rumlow had escaped with.

"Nat, it's me," Clint said as he raced closer, his gun trained on Rumlow.

"He's dead," she informed her partner before turning back to Barnes and applying an increased pressure to the rapidly reddening padding.

"Damn," Clint muttered, shooting the dead body one last loathing look before dropping to his knees beside Barnes. "Paramedics should be right behind me. How's he doing?" he asked as he held the fingers of his left hand to Bucky's throat while carefully lifting the former assassin's eyelids and scowling at the lack of a response.

"He was drugged. Practically unresponsive before I got here. How's Rogers?"

"Stark is with him. In his suit," Clint grunted out, bobbling in time to Bucky's sluggish pulse.

Natasha just nodded, unfazed by the second bit of information. It was standard procedure to send Stark and a suit with Steve, if someone enhanced wasn't available, in case the Captain woke swinging. It was only used as a restraint until he regained his bearings and was no longer a risk of hurting himself or others around him.

"Can you get the cuffs off?" she asked. Clint nodded twice more then pulled a set of picks from his pocket and got to work, the foot-long bars of metal falling away less than a minute later.

The sirens in the background were quickly approaching and it wasn't long before they heard the ambulance screech to a stop in the front parking log. Not long after that, the paramedics were kneeling next to Clint and Natasha, one lowering the gurney and asking the SHIELD agents about what had happened while the other performed a quick examination of Barnes.

A few minutes later, the paramedics had moved Bucky onto the gurney, secured him by one loose strap to his chest and upper legs, and then taken off toward the ambulance, walking as quickly as they could. The driver hopped out of the vehicle and was holding open the doors, allowing the two mobile ones to load in the stretcher in no time.

The two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents followed close behind, ready to offer any aid they could. Just outside the ambulance, Clint shrugged off a metallic red backpack and offered it to Natasha. "Do you want to go with Bucky or should I?"

"I'll go," Natasha said without hesitation, slinging the pack onto her own shoulders, feeling the metal thump against her ribcage.

"I'll wait until the techs get here—see if I can find what Barnes was dosed with," Clint added as she climbed into the ambulance. "Keep me updated."

She just nodded, sitting back against the bench seat, as he swung the back doors closed and the ambulance raced toward the hospital.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you thought!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry about the very unplanned wait. The last week has been chaotic to say the least.**

 **Please enjoy an extra long chapter to make up for it and I will do my best to get the next chapter out in the next few days. It's completely written, just needs a serious proofread before I feel comfortable posting it.**

 **Thanks for all your wonderful support!**

* * *

At 3:59 AM, Natasha walked back into Bucky's hospital room, two very large coffees in hand.

"How is he?" she asked Clint, holding out one of the cups.

The archer practically tore the caffeinated beverage from her hand and downed at least half of it in one gulp. "Still hasn't regained consciousness but that's not unusual. Nancy came by a little bit ago, took him off the oxygen, and switched out the antibiotics for pain meds. Other than that..." he trailed off with a shrug.

As he was speaking, Natasha had reached out and gently pulled the thin hospital gown down to Bucky's waist so she had a full view of his injured upper body. She wasn't expecting to see much change but the serum had surprised her before, which is why she made these series of visual baselines so she could more accurately know when something was amiss. Bucky's abdomen was covered in a thick swath of white bandages which were in sharp contrast to the dark bruises spread wide over his rib cage, flesh shoulder and face. The seam of his metal arm was lined with thick, angry red scabs that looked like they had just barely closed while the wide cut stitched closed over his left eye was beginning to knit itself together. As Clint had said, Bucky was no longer on an oxygen mask, though he was still hooked up to a variety of equipment, including an IV that pumped alternating rounds of antibiotics, Stark-issue analgesics, and other nutrients into his system.

"Anything on your end?" Clint asked after Natasha had tugged up the hospital gown again.

The team had decided to alternate shifts every four hours, in order to maintain peak alertness and sanity. Clint had relieved her around midnight, at which point she had headed straight to the underground SHIELD base. After she had submitted her clothing as evidence and showered off her teammates' blood, she'd tracked down Coulson and Hill who were already waking up their best agents to find out how Rumlow had survived the Fall of the Triskelion. They'd also sent the new STRIKE team, personally vetted by Steve and Natasha, to the new Hydra base where they'd begun tearing it down to the studs, looking for any additional information about Hydra or their new leader. In doing so, they discovered a hidden passageway in the fully-functioning ice cream parlor which lead to a series of interconnected rooms. One contained a small munitions stash, another a mind-wiping apparatus for Barnes (but thankfully no corresponding cryo unit) and the third was a small medical center that held, beyond the ordinary, a few vials labelled in code, which they'd sent back to the hospital lab for testing, hoping one would match the drug Bucky had been injected with.

After finding out that Helen was in charge of their supersoldiers, Banner had abdicated his position as de facto team doctor in order to assist the hospital lab staff with identifying the drug. So far they'd had no success, which meant Bucky was being closely monitored until it was either out of his system or he began showing symptoms.

"So we have a whole lot of nothing," Clint surmised when she was finished.

"Unfortunately," Natasha replied before dropping into the seat next to Clint, somehow not spilling a drop of her lidless coffee. "Any updates from Steve?"

The last she'd heard from Tony or Thor, who were texting updates about every half hour, Rogers had just gotten out of surgery and was resting comfortably in recovery. Said surgery had gone well, the bullet had been deemed safe to remove, the lung stitched up and his various other injuries from the accident attended to. He would be on the ventilator for the night and have a chest tube maintaining pressure until his lung could stay inflated on its own. Given the huge amount of damage to his system, his condition was marked as Critical though Helen was cautiously optimistic he'd make it through the night without issues. She'd also enumerated his other injuries, including the most likely torn ligaments in his knee and the broken bones from the crash, but since none of them were life-threatening, she'd held off on an extensive discussion of treatments until he'd fully regained consciousness.

"They moved him to room 237 an hour ago. Tony's with him again," Barton informed her as he slouched back into the chair so he could rest his feet on the frame of the hospital bed. He proceeded to balance his coffee cup on his chest, interlace his fingers on top of his lower ribs, then tilt his head so it lolled over the back of the chair, somehow still maintaining his visual of the doorway.

"That cannot be comfortable," Natasha commented, shifting positions in an attempt to ease the building ache in her lower back.

"Don't knock it til you try it," the archer grunted without looking away from the door.

Suddenly, the heart monitor ticked loudly and the two agents immediately glanced at Bucky's face, looking for signs of distress. Fortunately, Barnes just shifted slightly, never fully breaking into consciousness.

"Helen been by recently?" Natasha asked once they were both convinced he was still breathing.

"Not since you were here last. Nancy says they finally convinced her to catch forty in the doctor's lounge."

"Speaking of..." Natasha spoke up, tipping her head at the clock to highlight the current time. "Your shift is up. Why don't you do the same?" Even as she suggested it, she knew he was going to reject her offer. While being there for Barnes was important, it wasn't easy sitting idle after learning Rumlow had been alive and plotting his revenge without their knowledge.

Sure enough, he rolled his head in her direction and quickly replied, "not really tired," tapping the almost empty coffee cup as proof. A moment later though, he swung to his feet in one smooth motion and drained the last of his beverage. " _But_ I'll go check on the STRIKE team and see what they've found," he announced as he shot the empty Styrofoam cup into the small trash can by the door with perfect accuracy. "Call if you need anything," he added before he disappeared out of the room.

The second Clint was gone, Natasha immediately switched into the seat he had just vacated, hoping it would provide her a better view of the doorway than her current position, which left her back exposed. She frowned when she discovered it was just as bad as her original seat and quickly dragged the chair to the other side of Barnes' bed. It took her a few tries but she finally managed to find the viewpoint she wanted.

Before she sat down for the near future though, Natasha fetched the red backpack from where Clint had leaned it against the bed frame and slid it under her newly situated chair. The pack assembled into a gender-neutral upper half to an Iron Man suit, complete with helmet, chest piece and reinforced arms and hands, that Tony had built after learning that Barnes had the same issues waking as Steve. He'd designed it so it couldn't be weaponized, meaning there were no blasters or reactors except for a small one that powered the initial activation but went dark as soon as the half-suit was assembled on a person. It was much preferred to securing the supersoldiers to their hospital beds until they were cognizant.

Situating the pack in the perfect position for emergency activation, she then pulled out another recommendation from her book club to pass the time. It wasn't entertaining enough to catch her interest however, so after realizing she'd read the same page four times without absorbing the plot, she exchanged it for a gossip magazine which required far fewer brain cells to browse.

Thankfully, Nancy, the attending nurse, stopped by to check on Barnes not long after that, bringing with her a sandwich and bag of chips for whoever was sitting with him. Nancy was one of the few medical professionals the Avengers trusted implicitly, having won each of them over many times over the last few years. In fact, Natasha might even go so far as to call Nancy a _friend_.

After Nancy was done examining Bucky with nothing new to report, she sat down beside Natasha and the two chatted amicably until Nancy's pager vibrated, Nancy filling in Natasha about her children's progress in school while Natasha regaled Nancy with the unclassified details of her latest mission in Austria, being sure to spend extra time on the unimportant details such as food, weather and culture, knowing that's what Nancy really wanted to hear about.

When Nancy left to check on her other patients, Natasha returned to perusing the magazine but saw saved from impending boredom a few moments later by her own phone chirping with a text from Clint: the agent she had shot in the alleyway had regained consciousness and was ready to be questioned.

Part of her wanted to be there and tag-team his interrogation with Clint but she knew Barton was more than capable of getting the information out of the Hydra agent on his own. Unfortunately, knowing he was there in the midst of the action and she was here keeping watch left her feeling anxious and a little bit useless. Unable to return to the mindless magazine, she scanned the room again, looking for something of more meaning to occupy her time. Her gaze landed on the small flecks of red in the plates of Bucky's metal arm, mostly concentrated around his hand, immediately knowing it was Rogers' blood. Judging by his arm's general condition, someone had obviously tried to remove a majority of the blood earlier but had most likely stopped when more important issues were made known.

That was alright. It would give Natasha something to do until Barnes woke or her shift was over.

Still maintaining her visual on her injured friend, she walked into the hallway where she raided a small cart for some rubbing alcohol and swabs. Then, she donned the top-half of the suit, leaving the faceplate up, and began working the cleanser into the seams between the plates, a surprising amount of red quickly staining the swabs. As she worked, she noticed that some of the plates on his forearm were bent, most likely where the foot-long über cuffs had been. She snapped a quick picture and sent it to Tony, so he could start planning how to straighten them out after Barnes was released.

That was how she was sitting twenty-seven minutes later, hunched over Bucky's metal arm, when the soldier finally woke.

* * *

Barnes jolted harshly into consciousness, drawn by the sensation of something touching his arm. Through the fog that invaded his brain, he heard muffled, repetitive beeping, smelled the harsh antiseptic, and was able to discern that he was in a hospital.

"It's okay Bucky, calm down. You're safe."

That was odd: the doctors at Hydra had never referred to him by his first name. It was probably a trick.

He forced his eyes open and caught a quick glimpse of red hair. Something about that seemed familiar but that thought was quickly pushed away as he realized he wasn't being restrained.

He lurched forward, trying his best to get out of the bed, and cursed as agony swept through his abdomen. He doubled over and tried to wrap his arms around his stomach for support, hesitating when he felt an IV tugging painfully in the crook of his right elbow.

"Bucky? Bucky stop," he heard a low female voice say as something metallic pressed against his shoulders, trying to push him back down. "You're going to tear your stitches."

"Le'me go!" he cried, swiping at her with his left hand which, due to the copious amount of drugs that must be coursing through his system, didn't move very far.

"You're in the hospital. St. Matthew's. You were in an accident. You're safe. Steve is safe."

 _Steve._

"Hey, easy Barnes. You're safe, he's safe, I promise. I need you to calm down though before you hurt yourself further."

With great concentration, Bucky was able to recognize the voice as Natasha's. His gaze snapped up, trying desperately to focus on her face but his vision was blurring too badly for that to happen.

"Steve," he grunted, scanning the room and trying to focus on anything. He saw a large white blur and knew that was Natasha in the armor, with the faceplate up, judging by the haze of red perched on top of the white.

"Out of surgery," the blob said. "Bullet missed his heart, but punctured his left lung. We're lucky Helen was here."

"Helen?" Bucky parroted.

His vision cleared slightly, just in time for him to see the concerned glance Natasha shot his way. "She's in town for the party Stark is throwing."

 _Oh, right._ That's why he and Steve had been out shopping in the first place; they were getting ingredients for a 11-layer dip recipe he wanted to try out, to see if it was as good as the one he'd had at one of Sam's sports parties, whose recipe was a family secret and could not be shared, even after Bucky fixed the man with the Soldier's glare.

 _There'll be time to mourn your 11-layer dip later_ , his brain chided. _Right now, you have somewhere else to be._

With a nod of acknowledgement that sent a knifing pain through his skull, Bucky leaned forward and awkwardly shuffled his hips to the right side of the bed, hoping this increased mobility meant the drugs in his system were wearing off permanently. His left shoulder immediately began to burn with the motion and he glanced over to find a row of angry red scabs along the seam where the metal plates were fused to his skeleton. He half-knew that sight should have concerned him but instead he just shrugged internally. That would heal over time: the important thing was that his arm was still attached and that he wasn't being restrained.

"What are you doing?" Natasha demanded. "You're going to tear your stitches." As if on cue, pain seared through his abdomen, bringing with it the memory of Natasha shooting him...no _through_ him!

"Rumlow?" he demanded between gasps, again hunching forward slightly in an attempt to relieve the pain in his belly.

The bed shifted beside him and then Natasha's hand was on his back, rubbing slow, comforting circles. "Dead," she said solemnly. "I took him out after you lost consciousness.

"Sorry about that, by the way," she continued in a different tone.

"You did wh't you had to," he replied. He turned his head to look at her and immediately regretted it as the world swam, any progress he'd just made in stabilizing his vision gone. He sat there for a moment, eyes squeezed close, biting back nausea, while his stomach took this opportunity to chime in with a new wave of agony.

"How bad?" he gasped, scrubbing at his temples with his metal hand.

"Through and through. Pierced your bowel." Then she paused, her face contorting into an expression Bucky's addled brain couldn't quite read. "It was the only chink in Rumlow's armor."

Bucky just lifted one shoulder in what was meant to be a consoling gesture. She obviously understood what he intended for she nodded, then continued, "You have a concussion and broken ribs from the accident—"

"Steve was...worse," he panted out, able to guess from his current condition exactly what was wrong with him. As the pain in his abdomen momentarily subsided, he again tried to swing his legs out of bed but had even less success than he did the first time; apparently the drugs weren't fading as quickly as he'd thought. "Have to...see...Steve."

"He's still unconscious. Stark hired a whole team to keep watch outside his room."

"Don't...care," Bucky valiantly tried to again get out of bed but was stopped by Natasha's hand tightening on his shoulder. This time, he turned his whole body, keeping his head steady, so he could look at her without his brain aching. "Please, Nat?"

She stared at him for a long moment, then exhaled loudly. "I'll go get you a wheelchair," she grumbled, more at Bucky's stubbornness than the actual task at hand, as she stood up.

As much as Bucky wanted to deny that he needed one, there were truly some powerful drugs coursing through his system which were keeping him from having full control over his extremities. He cursed under his breath then nodded, grabbing the side of the bed with his right arm to stay balanced.

True to her word, it took her only a moment to procure a wheelchair, which she parked directly next to his bed. He was about to lower himself into it when he felt a breeze in places he shouldn't. He tucked the sheet tighter around him, noticing for the first time that he was wearing only the hospital gown that gaped open in the back. "Where are my clothes?" he hissed.

"They had to cut them off of you," Natasha said. "But I found you a pair of scrubs," she said, holding up a plastic wrapped package. After tearing it open and handed him the pants, she laid the shirt on the bed and produced a knife from her boot. Flicked it open with an almost manic grin, she then cut a vertical line down the backside of the shirt and made three sets of one-inch wide slits on each side of the opening. "And now it ties," she announced, holding it up so Barnes could see.

Bucky rolled his eyes at the baby blue color but allowed Natasha to help him into the scrubs...and into the wheelchair after he discovered it wasn't as simple as just launching himself off the bed in the right position. She kept the brakes locked until she had secured his IV bag, at which point she pushed him into the hallway at a turtle's pace.

"Nat…" he groaned.

"Complain again and I will shoot you somewhere more important," she shot back, giving his lower body a pointed look.

Bucky didn't object for the rest of trip.

* * *

Five achingly long minutes later, they rolled up to a room guarded by three of the most dangerous-looking men Barnes had ever seen—and that was saying something. Apparently Stark had friends in high places in order to secure this lot on a moment's notice.

As if reading his mind, Natasha leaned forward slightly. "There were three outside your room too."

Bucky squinted at her. He'd missed that. Apparently his brain still wasn't rid of the surgery drugs.

The guards parted so they could enter and, from the moment he set eyes on the prone Rogers, Bucky knew from all the equipment surrounding his friend that Steve was indeed in bad shape. Steve was shirtless, a sheet pulled up to his hips, revealing the swath of bandages around his left shoulder and the brightly colored bruising over his entire torso, mostly concentrated on the right side. Bucky tried to look in more detail but the harder he concentrated, the more his brain hurt, so he just let his eyes relax and absorbed as much as he could with his peripheral vision.

There were a variety of wires and tubes surrounding his friend, mostly just monitoring equipment, but he was able to isolate two that seemed to have actual function: one was inserted between Steve's left ribs and another, which Bucky belatedly realized was connected to a ventilator, was taped to the corner of his mouth. There was a large pad of gauze taped to his right cheek and a massive metal knee brace strapped to the same leg. Bucky couldn't focus directly on it, but he found if he looked elsewhere, he could see in his periphery that there were no pins. For some reason, his hazy brain chose to focus on Steve's injured knee, offering reassurance that not having pins or screws in the knee was as good an outcome as they could have hoped for.

"Good to see you upright," Tony said from somewhere behind him, snapping Bucky out of his thoughts. Barnes scowled at the interruption and refocused what little concentration he could shore up back on Steve.

As Natasha rolled him over to the bed, Bucky snagged the file folder that was hanging from the footboard. He immediately threw it open to read Helen's report of his friend's condition but his stomach flip-flopped painfully as the floor moved in the background behind the folder. Swallowing back the nausea, he waited until Natasha had parked the wheelchair before he attempted to refocus on the page. Unfortunately, that wasn't much better; even though he was stopped, the words were still swimming before his eyes, driving new shards of agony into his brain.

He curled forward, his fists rubbing against his temples, and felt the folder being taken gently out of his hands. While Bucky tried to get his head to stop aching, Natasha began to read him the long litany of Steve's injuries: his severely dislocated shoulder, the gunshot wound and resulting punctured lung, cracked ribs, torn ligaments in his knee—

Judging by the deep breath she had just taken, she wasn't nearly done.

But Bucky was.

Suddenly the room was too small, too full of collateral damage. His heart was pounding against his ribs with inhuman strength while his lungs struggled to bring in oxygen. His hands threw off the brakes and he used all the momentum he could muster to push the chair into motion, desperate to get out of the rapidly shrinking room. He swore loudly as he felt the skin along the seam of left shoulder tear open with the quick moves, but he forced the pain away and focused on getting out of the room.

He rolled into the hallway, startling the three nurses who had been walking by. He kept pushing valiantly on the wheels but, given his current condition, wasn't covering much distance. In his haste, he threw himself out of the chair, hoping his legs would hold him.

They didn't.

Bucky crumpled to the floor, landing hard on one knee, the other ending up straight behind him. He braced himself on his elbows, just barely managing to keep his forehead from connecting with the cool tile. All of his strength suddenly gone, he just stayed there,his head hanging beneath his shoulders. Seconds later, he heard racing footsteps approaching then someone dropped to the ground beside him.

"What's wrong?" Natasha demanded, her voice thick with concern.

"'m fine," he spat out between heaving breaths. "Just need...some air."

"You're not fine," Natasha said, shifting so she was sitting cross-legged in front of him. "You're out here thinking Steve is in there because of you."

Bucky turned his head ever so slightly so he could see Natasha's face and fixed her with his most deadly glare.

"Hydra couldn't possibly be after Steve because of who he is or what's in his blood," she continued, seemingly unaffected by his expression. "Steve was just a normal person, a complete nobody, until you came into his life."

"That's not—"

"Then what is it, Bucky? Why do you think all this falls on your shoulders?"

He dropped his forehead to the tile which surprisingly eased his pounding headache by a fraction. When words failed him, he just stared at the ground, not wanting to argue semantics at this current juncture.

"The same thing happened to Clint after I defected," she continued in a softer tone when he didn't respond, "the first time the Red Room came after me. Clint sacrificed himself so I could get away—well he tried to. Some of my 'classmates' almost beat him to death. I had to go back and save his ass." She paused for a second then added, "I'm only telling you this because you're heavily concussed and drugged out of your mind, you know. It'll ruin my reputation if you tell anyone."

He chose not to refute her previous statement and instead asked, "What 'ap'n'd?"

"I punched him in the jaw when I found out he had a family," she said simply.

"'S not what I meant."

"I know," Natasha was quiet for a long moment. "He told me it was his choice. And that next time I better damn well respect it. I'm sure if Steve was conscious, he'd say the same thing."

Bucky stared at her for a long moment then exhaled loudly, feeling some of the panic in his system drift slowly away. "They're both idiots," he finally muttered, lifting his forearms slightly so he could scrub at his throbbing temples.

The corner of Natasha's mouth quirked upward and she might have even snorted out a chuckle but Barnes didn't have the full mental capacity to confirm it. "Well you're not wrong about that," she replied, then held out her hand.

After a moment to collect himself, Bucky reached out and took her outstretched arm with his left, grabbing the wheelchair seat with his right. It took both of them to leverage him back into the seat without re-injuring anything and he sat there, winded and aching, while Natasha walked around the chair and kicked off the brakes.

"Where are we off to?" she asked.

He recognized that she was giving him a choice, though it was obvious what she thought he should do. "Back to Steve's room," he said, without any hesitation.

Before she pushed them forward, Natasha reached down and patted his shoulder. "Good choice Bucky."

* * *

"Everything alright?" Tony asked as soon as they turned the corner to Steve's room. Stark was standing just inside the door frame, obviously torn between staying to guard Steve or checking on his teammates.

Bucky nodded. "Rough day," he deadpanned as Natasha rolled him into position by Steve's bed. He reached out hesitantly then laid his left hand on top of Steve's right.

"Been there," he heard Tony chuckle (with some effort), in an attempt to keep the mood light.

There was a moment of silence, which Bucky spent examining his friend's condition as best he could, before Natasha announced that she and Tony were going to the cafeteria to grab coffee.

"Bu—" Tony began to object but the word ended in a whoosh of air and a pained grunt. Bucky turned from his waist to see Tony grabbing at his abdomen as Natasha linked her arm through his and tugged him along.

"We'll be back in ten," she informed Bucky. They made it to the doorway before Natasha paused, pulled her phone from her pocket and tossed it lightly on the bed. "Speed dial 1 if you need to get a hold of us before then."

Bucky nodded slowly, giving his brain time to adjust to the movements.

When they were gone, Bucky turned his gaze back to his friend. "I got ya, Steve," he muttered as his hand carefully closed around Steve's, ready to defend against whatever walked into the room.


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm breaking my cardinal rule of not posting on the weekend because it took me so long to post this chapter. Sorry for the wait. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 _Beep._

"Steve?"

 _Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeep_.

"Helen!"

* * *

 _Beep._

There was something heavy over his nose and mouth.

"Hey Steve, that's the oxygen mask. You need to leave that alone."

Oh.

"That's it. Good job Steve."

Bucky? Where are we? What's going on?

"You're mumbling, Steve. I can't understand you. Why don't you go back to sleep and we'll talk about it later?"

There was something warm on his forehead, running through his hair, then the darkness pulled him under.

* * *

 _Beep._

"Hey handsome," a male voice said. "Think you could open those baby blues for me?"

Steve concentrated with all his strength and managed to crack one eye open slightly. It took a minute for his vision to adjust but he was eventually able to make out Bucky leaning over him, his left arm in a sling. He wanted to ask what was wrong but his mouth wasn't willing to form the words.

"There you go," Bucky was saying. "How are you feeling? Are you in pain? Do I need to get the doctors?"

The speed of the words leaving Bucky's mouth drove harsh spikes into Steve's brain. His eyelid dropped closed as his face scrunched up in pain.

"Too much, too fast, I got it," his friend said, much more slowly and in a much lower voice.

"U'huh," was all Steve managed before he drifted back to sleep.

* * *

 _Beep._

This time Steve drifted into consciousness, he felt much lighter. The obstruction around his nose and mouth was gone and his chest no longer felt like a pachyderm was sitting on it. He let himself lay there, in what he knew was a hospital bed by the feel and the sounds around him, feigning unconsciousness, until he knew exactly what kind of hospital he was in. He tried to take stock of his current condition but his body felt as heavy as lead and just as responsive.

With great effort, he finally managed to open one eye into a squint, peering through his eyelashes until he saw a metal blob resting on his hand.

Bucky.

It took a greater effort still but Steve finally managed to open both eyes fully. Though truly concentrating on anything was still a bit beyond his capabilities, he was, after a moment, able to move his hand slightly.

Bucky's head immediately jerked off the bed where it had been resting against his crossed forearms. "Wazzit," he mumbled, rubbing sleepily at his eyes with the fingers of his right hand.

Steve noticed the dark circles under his friend's eyes and the stubble on the once clean-shaven face but before his brain could decipher what that meant, Bucky yawned so widely he cracked his jaw. The sound snapped Steve from his thoughts and he found Bucky squinting at him, his gaze not quite focused.

"Steve?" his friend asked drowsily. Then his expression cleared, his eyes bright with realization. "You're awake!" he cried, his right hand going to his cheek where the angry red outline of the plates of his arm were imprinted. "Shit, I fell asleep!" He was on his feet in another second, leaning slightly over Steve so he could look his injured friend in the eye. "How are ya feeling, man?"

"Not...feelin'...much," Steve managed slowly, but without too much strain on his aching body. On a positive note though, he seemed to be gaining more control over his body the longer he was awake.

"Well that's probably a good thing. I'm going to call Helen, okay?" Bucky said around a second yawn. He waited until Steve nodded before reaching over and tapping the button beside Steve's head. "Just hang out until she gets a chance to check you over."

"'Kay," Steve managed as he rested his head back against the pillow, letting his chin fall slightly forward. From this angle, he had an unobstructed view of the thick bandages over his upper left side and the large brace around his knee. "Wha'pp'n'd?" he asked as his eyes drifted closed.

"You don't remember?" Bucky sounded fairly concerned.

Steve shook his head, instantly regretted it as the movement sent pain lancing through his neck. His eyes still closed, he heard Bucky take a deep breath and felt the burst of the long exhale through the thin gown on his hip.

"We were on our way back from the store when Hydra tried to get me back," Barnes stated after a long moment.

Steve jerked upright as the memory snapped back to him, bringing with it a jolt of adrenaline. Ignoring the screeching of the heart rate monitors, he demanded, "You okay?" With that simple phrase though, agony exploded in his chest and he clutched at his ribs, trying to relieve the pain, while forcing out the rest of his questions. "'re's...Rumlow?" he gasped, "'re's Nat?...She ok'y?"

Suddenly Bucky was standing over him again, gently pushing him back against the bed, his metal hand resting just over Steve's heart. "I'm fine, Natasha's fine, Steve, I promise. I need you to calm down though. Your lung is just barely working again."

Steve wanted to resist but his body rejected the request, desperate to somehow get oxygen. He flopped back against the bed, trying to catch his breath through shallow hitching inhales, and glared at Bucky to explain.

"That's it," Barnes praised, undeterred, as the beeping of the monitoring equipment began to regulate. He waited until he was satisfied with the readings on the screen above the IV pole before succinctly summarizing, "Natasha saved my life and took out Rumlow. Didn't get so much as a scratch."

While that was good news, it didn't escape Steve's notice how Bucky conveniently left himself out of this retelling. He stared again at his friend, concentrating with all his might, and noticed how Bucky's right arm was pressed against his side, his forearm protectively guarding his abdomen. That combined with the slightly hunched posture and the light zip-up hoodie Barnes was wearing only added up to one thing in Steve's mind.

"What happ'n'd...to you?" Steve quietly demanded as he pointed at Bucky's side, not trusting his aching lungs to allow him another outburst.

His friend immediately straightened up and let his right arm fall into the chair. "It's fine, Steve," he stated, shifting again to make his previous move seem intentional.

Unfortunately, he waited a split second too long for it to be believable, which only corroborated Steve's previous thought that something had happened to his friend. "Bucky…" Rogers insisted in a warning tone, glaring at his friend with all the force he could muster.

Counter to his master plan though, Barnes just met his gaze levelly, not saying a word. They sat in this impromptu staring contest for a long few moments until Bucky finally cursed and looked away, rubbing the heel of his right hand into his eye socket as if to ward off a headache. "Natasha shot Rumlow through me," he finally admitted with a preemptive wince.

Steve's eyes widened in concern but Bucky reached out and pushed gently on his left shoulder, keeping him from rising from the bed. "It's not a big deal," he was quick to add. "It'll be healed within the week."

Even his drug-induced daze, Steve knew that wasn't entirely true and that Bucky was most likely downplaying his injuries for his sake but, before he could respond, a nurse dressed in brightly colored scrubs walked into the room.

"Good evening, Captain Rogers," Nancy said with a wide smile. "How are we feeling tonight?"

"We're fine," Steve returned curtly but not unkindly. "Could you," he paused to take a shallow breath, "give us a moment...please?"

There was a brief pause while Nancy's gaze flickered between the two of them, obviously accessing the situation. "I'm afraid I can't, given your condition," she finally said. "But I promise to be as quick as I can though." With that, she walked over to his bedside and began taking his vitals, talking a mile a minute about how worried the entire staff had been. As always with Nancy, it was easy to get caught up in her energy and enthusiasm and Steve felt a little of the anxiety about this whole situation—the odd feeling that he was missing a key piece of a puzzle—shelve itself for a later discussion. He allowed himself to relax slightly, for no other reason that to hurry along the exam.

While Nancy was listening to his airways with a stethoscope, he tuned out her running monologue and looked over her shoulder to see Bucky lean against the wall opposite the door, tapping away on his phone, his brow furrowed with concentration. He snapped back to this side of the room though when he heard Nancy mention something about, "these last three days."

"I've been here for...three days?" Steve repeated, wincing as agony knifed through his lung.

Nancy nodded, a sympathetic expression on her face. "And a long three days they were for your friends, I might add." She must have seen how Steve looked back over at Barnes, his expression filled with what seemed like guilt, but she choose not to mention it; instead she focused on how he struggled to answer her and proceeded to teach him how to speak and breathe so as not to aggravate his still healing lung.

When she was finished with her exam and had noted her findings in his chart, she checked her phone which had beeped repeatedly during the exam. "Sergeant Barnes," she said, motioning toward the hallway, "if I can have a word."

"Is it from Bruce?" Bucky asked, the corner of his mouth twitching uneasily as he slid his own phone into his pocket. When Nancy nodded, he rolled his shoulders uncomfortably then sighed. "You can just say it. He's going to find out anyway."

"If you're sure," she paused for a long moment, giving Bucky a chance to change his mind, but he just shook his head almost resignedly and motioned for her to begin. "The lab just finished the analysis of the substance Rumlow injected you with—"

"The _what_?" Steve exclaimed, instinct taking over and shifting him into a more upright position. He gasped as his abdomen twinged in pain but was determined to stay vertical until he glanced over at the Nancy and Bucky to find them both shooting him a stern look. Grumbling under his breath, he slouched back against the pillows and waved for them to explain.

"—is completely out of your system," Nancy continued quickly, only pausing to locate a few details from the original message. "Its chemical composition is very similar to what we were giving you during your recovery so you should be suffering no ill effects."

"Thank you for letting me know," Bucky told her, pointedly avoiding looking at Steve.

The RN nodded once then quickly strode out of the room.

"Injected!?" Steve repeated in a much quieter tone as soon as Nancy was gone. He heard a ripping sound and looked down to see his fist holding a large chunk of the bed sheet.

"Steve, it was nothing. I'm fine now."

"I think you better tell me the whole story," Steve said levelly, letting his words slide out of his mouth on the exhale as Nancy had taught him.

"There's not that much to it," Bucky insisted but he did push off of the wall and slide back into the chair next to the bed. After taking a deep, almost long-suffering, breath, he told Steve the greatly simplified version of what had happened after the Captain had lost consciousness.

"Jesus Buck," Steve muttered when he was finished, shaking his head in disbelief. "You shouldn't have made that deal."

Bucky stared at him for a moment, his jaw working with a rapidly building anger at the hypocrisy of Steve's statement, knowing just how willingly his friend would have done the same thing for anyone on the team. "I _what_?" he asked, barely managing to keep the emotion of his voice.

He wasn't entirely successful for Steve blinked rapidly, visibly confused by Bucky's reaction. In typical Brooklyn fashion though, he barreled forward, his tone rising to match Bucky's. "Shouldn't have made that deal," Steve fired back. "Shouldn't have gone with Rumlow! Who knows...what he would have done to you!"

"I do," Bucky said, his quiet words more powerful than a shout. He leaned back in the chair, wincing as he did so, and scrubbed his right hand over his face. "I know _every. last. thing._ he would have done to turn me back into the Soldier."

"Bucky, that's not what I—"

"Well then, what did you mean Steve?" Bucky continued, undeterred. "If you were in my place, what would you have done, let me bleed out in your arms? With Rumlow's pistol in the back of my neck, saving your life was my only option…" he trailed off, suddenly deeply engrossed in the hem of the hospital sheet. "Because if you were alive, I knew you'd come after me."

Steve suddenly couldn't breathe, all the air gone from his lungs in a manner which was in no way related to his actual injury.

"I know you wouldn't stop until I was back," Bucky continued, pointedly avoiding Steve's gaze. "It was a risk I needed to take. A selfish one, really."

All the anger melted out of Steve the moment he saw Bucky's expression and he sat there for a long moment, unable to find words to express how he felt. There was so much trust in that plan, that Bucky was willing to sacrifice himself to save Steve on the chance that Steve could break through the brainwashing again. It was a lot for Steve to process on a normal day, let alone currently with Stark-issue drugs floating through his system and skewing his emotions.

"Bucky," Steve began, his own voice dangerously close to cracking. "I just..." he mumbled after a long moment, pausing again for a long moment to try to find the words, "... _can't_ be the reason you lose yourself, the reason you get turned back into the Soldier," he continued between frequent pauses to catch his breath. "You finally figured out who you wanted to be. No one is worth you losing that again—not even me."

Before Bucky could speak, Steve added, "I need to know that isn't always going to be your first reaction if...something happens to me." He trailed off, then chuckled self-deprecatingly, which turned out to be a mistake as his lung began burning with new ferocity. "I mean…" he choked out between spasms, "what if I couldn't bring you back? I don't know how I'd live with that."

Bucky finally met Steve's gaze, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "That'd never happen Steve. I believe it with all my heart."

They sat in silence for a long few moments, both obviously struggling to keep their expressions neutral. Finally, Steve reached out and grabbed Bucky's right hand. "I'm glad you're okay," he mumbled, not exactly looking in Bucky's direction, not trusting himself to be able to say anything else.

Bucky snorted. "I'm glad you are too, Steve."

Rogers just nodded, his lips pursed in a tight line, his eyes _almost_ but not quite watering. He looked so simultaneously sad and happy that Bucky was confused which emotion to act on. Before he could change his mind, Barnes reached over and laid his right arm over Steve's upper chest in the best approximation of a hug they were going to get in their current conditions. After a second to process the action, Steve's left hand wrapped around his ribs, completing the gesture.

As simple as the hug was, it meant a great deal more to the supersoldiers: it was a reassurance that they were both still alive, that they'd both survived another seemingly insurmountable obstacle, and that, after all this, they both still had each other to depend on.

They pulled apart only when Helen walked in, nose buried in one thick folder. She greeted both of them then set about examining the both of them, pronouncing them healing at a rate that even she hadn't expected.

When she was finished, she turned to Steve and discussed the long recovery he had ahead of him, despite the serum, much the same way she had done for Bucky two days ago. The object of her speech looked surprisingly disinterested about her explaining what to expect, listening intently but acting so nonchalantly about the whole thing, as if she were discussing the weather, not the enormous lengths Steve would have to go to to make a full recovery, let along be cleared for active duty. Part of Bucky understood that this was a coping mechanism to deal with the fact he'd almost died (again...) but he also knew at least one of them should know what to expect going forward. So, he straightened up and listened intently to every word Helen had said, as Natasha had done for him two days ago when he'd been in a similar state to Steve's.

"I'll be printing out your aftercare instructions and hanging them all over the common floor of the Tower," Helen stated as she bent down to check on the stitched together incision where Steve's chest tube had been.

"You don't have to do that," Steve was quick to object but Helen just stood and fixed the Captain with a knowing look, silently reminding him of what she'd endured as his attending physician for the last eighteen months. After a moment to recall which incidents she was referring to, he scowled and nodded his understanding of her plan.

As she slid his medical file into its holder, she caught sight of Bucky grinning widely at his friend's forlorn expression. "Yours too, Sergeant Barnes," she said, a smile coming to her own face as Bucky's expression now matched Steve's.

"That's really not—"

"I believe it is," she said in a tone that eliminated all future argument. Then she turned back to Steve. "If all goes well, you should be out of here in three days," she informed him. "Until then, you know how to get a hold of me if you need me."

"We're staying at the Tower?" Steve asked, as soon as Helen had left.

Bucky nodded. "Stark's idea. Something about open floor plans and proximity to the best doctors in the States." He held up his hand before Steve could speak up. "And before you ask, I wasn't really given a choice."

"That's nice of him," Steve said diplomatically as he shrank back into the bed. It wasn't that he didn't like staying in the Tower while recovering, it was just that mothering from their teammates could be a little stifling for two people who were used to being on their own, despite how long they'd been on the team. Realizing the good intentions behind it and that it was a sign people cared about more than just the shield, he'd come to accept it...in small doses.

"I know," Bucky responded, dropping his forehead to the bed and mentally preparing himself for the slew of impending questions about asking about his health, how his exercises were going, whether he were listening to Helen or being mindful of his limitations, especially now that the team would have unlimited access to their recovery plans.

"You know you could have avoided all of this if you would have just listened to Helen last time, instead of going back into the gym too soon and tearing a new hole in yourself," a man said from the doorway.

"That was not my fault," Bucky was quick to reply, standing up to greet Coulson, who was wearing a slightly rumpled suit and his signature sunglasses.

"I was referring to Steve."

"Hey," the supersoldier interjected drowsily, his eyelids drooping in an uneven manner. Bucky looked over in concern, fearing his friend was stroking out, only to find the drip of IV painkillers had started again.

"It's good to see you two awake," Phil said, a small smile on his face which hadn't gone away, even after all these months of being in the same vicinity of his childhood heroes. He grabbed Steve's file and began to look through it while saying, "Sorry I couldn't get here sooner. We've been reassessing our entire infrastructure."

"How's that going?" Bucky quickly asked.

"Slow," Coulson replied, his face taking on an expression of great disgust. "Trying to figure out how Rumlow managed to crawl into a hole three years ago and who else joined him. Resources are a limited but we're managing."

After skimming the last page of Steve's file, he slid it back in its holder then turned so he could look the former Soldier straight in the eye. "How are you both doing?"

"Healing," Bucky promptly replied, knowing how much Coulson hated hearing things were _'fine'_. "Helen said Steve should be out of here in the next few days."

"Good," Coulson nodded. Seconds later, his phone beeped and he quickly pulled it from his pocket, scowling when he saw the message. "Unfortunately I can't stay. I'm taking the new recruits to investigate a possible Brock Rumlow sighting in Tallahassee."

Bucky looked up in surprise but Coulson just shrugged. "We take tips a little more seriously these days."

"Be...careful," Steve muttered, surprising them both as they thought he was asleep already.

"Always am, Steve," Coulson said in an unusually soft voice. "You take care of yourself, you hear? Get some rest."

"On it," Steve replied before the ticks from the monitors slowed, indicating he'd finally fallen asleep.

"You know, a nap wouldn't hurt you either," Coulson said, giving Bucky a pointed look. "You look like crap."

"It's like looking in a mirror," Barnes shot back, motioning to Coulson's appearance.

The director of new SHIELD laughed dryly then ran a hand down the sides of his suit in an attempt to smooth down some of the wrinkles. "I guess it's been a long few days for us all."

Before Bucky could respond, Phil's phone chirped again, this time at a frequency and pitch that made Barnes cringe. Surprisingly, the agent ignored this notification, choosing instead to scan the room, focusing on the access points and the second bed Nancy had had rolled in for Bucky after Steve had been moved out of the ICU.

"Don't you have to go?" Bucky asked as the phone beeped again at an even higher pitch.

"Nah," Coulson said, pulling out the phone and typing a quick message. "May can handle it. I have more important places to be." With that, he shrugged off his suit jacket and dropped into the plastic chair, reading for the gossip magazine Wanda had left earlier.

He'd flipped through only two pages before he looked up to see Bucky staring owlishly at him. "Bed, now," he ordered, motioning toward the other side of the room with his chin.

Barnes blinked but eventually he strode over to the second bed and laid down. "Happy now?" he asked, yawning as exhaustion washed over him like a tidal wave. He'd been attempting to rest like Helen ordered but always found it hard to actually sleep in hospitals. A combination of the nightmares, the smell, the openness, and the memories made it difficult for him to turn his brain off.

"Ecstatic," Coulson deadpanned, though his expression belied his tone.

Something warm lanced through Bucky's chest, feeling suspiciously like an emotion. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to process it since, upon realizing someone he trusted was around to keep watch, someone he trusted to keep Steve and himself safe, his body shut down almost instantly, pulling him into the healing folds of sleep.

* * *

 **Epilogue to be up soon!**


	5. Chapter 5

_Two weeks later..._

"You sure you're ready for this?" Bucky asked Steve as the elevator doors slid open to reveal the door to the Tower penthouse.

"Absolutely," Steve replied as he cautiously stepped forward, mindful of where his right leg was at. He'd just gotten off crutches three days ago and his knee was still encased in a hinged brace while it learned to be weight-bearing again.

He had been released from the hospital as Helen predicted but, after his lung was deemed healthy enough to handle the anesthesia, had had to go back into surgery five days later to repair his torn ACL, MCL and lateral and medial menisci. Until that time though, he had been in a wheelchair since the combination of the gunshot wound, the punctured lung and the dislocated shoulder made it impossible for him to work crutches or a walker. This had made Bucky and Steve's first few days at the Tower ones of great adjustment for many reasons, but namely Steve struggling to remain independent despite all his injuries.

The first example of this going poorly was Steve begging for a proper shower the first night back at Tower. As he still wasn't allowed to put weight on his right leg, Clint had hauled an outdoor chair from the helipad into Steve's bathroom for him to sit on under the spray. The Captain insisted he could manage from there but, after his shoulder had almost slipped out of its socket when he raised it above his head, he was forced to sit resignedly in his swim trunks while Bucky shampooed his hair for him.

It was obvious from the way Steve acted for the rest of the night that he _hated_ all of this: relying on others to help him, his inability to do even the simplest of tasks, and the helplessness and vulnerability of being so dependent on other people. All this reminded him too much of his past and the many days he'd spent laid up in bed recovering from yet another illness, wondering if this was the one that did him in.

The team all understood what Rogers was going through to some degree as none of them were particularly good at convalescing and, before Bucky could even mention the shower incident, they'd already gone out of their way to build temporary ramps over the small staircases and move all the items Steve might want to lower shelves, thus limiting the possibilities he would have to frustratedly ask for someone's help. Despite all their efforts, they also made sure someone was always around, should Steve actually need one of them.

The second adjustment was working for Bucky as well, since his healing abdomen and shoulder juncture still didn't allow him the range of motion to which he was accustomed. He'd thought that it was just coincidence that everything he liked was now on a lower shelf, since they were foods that Steve enjoyed too, until he'd discovered his favorite spread (the hazelnut chocolate one which was far too sugary for Steve's liking) there as well. He'd stared at the jar for longer than normal, knowing that it meant the team was looking after him as well. It had been two years since he'd decided that he deserved a second chance and things like this, where people went out of their way to show that they didn't mind his presence, still made his chest feel sort of weird and fuzzy.

The last big adjustment for the two of them was the copious amounts of free time in their schedules. While on missions or other SHIELD business, they were used to running insane 14+ hour days. Now though, their time was now filled with physical therapy appointments (and respiratory therapy for Steve), check-ups, then a whole lot of nothing. While it had been daunting at first, they'd both quickly come to realize that they needed the rest and learned to enjoy the movie watching, book reading, puzzle doing and all around relaxing, in between long, restoring naps.

It wasn't long after Steve's knee surgery that the good news began. Steve's right shoulder had healed enough that the physical therapist okayed him to begin doing things on his own again and, less than eighteen hours after that, Bucky was officially cleared by Helen for active duty. His healing factor wasn't quite as good as Steve's but his body had had less to contend with in the wake of the accident. The contusions, cuts and major symptoms of his concussion had been gone within days; the juncture of his arm was healed in less than a week; and he was hoping the bullet wound and cracked ribs, which were mostly mended though they still ached if he moved too quickly or stretched too far, would be quick to follow.

While Steve's biggest struggle had been with his physical limitations, the nightmares were the worst part for Bucky, the "what ifs" about Natasha not making it in time running rampant and bringing back a host of unwanted recollections. He did his best to keep them from his friends, not wanting their judgment (which deep-down he knew he wouldn't see but couldn't get himself to rationalize) or their pity. He wasn't always successful though and had more than once woken someone else in the throes of a nightmare. Finally, after one such incident which left him and Sam in the kitchen at 3 AM sucking down cold cups of coffee, Wilson had convinced him to write his memories down, both the good and the bad. Though initially reluctant, he did as Sam suggested and found that it helped a little. It showed him that the good memories far outweighed the bad and that the act of acknowledging his past actions seemed to make those recurring nightmares less frequent.

All in all, both boys from Brooklyn were well on their way to recovery.

As if on cue, Steve and Bucky both straightened up, a habit from long ago that'd never been broken, then knocked on the door to the penthouse suite.

A split second later, the door swung open revealing Pepper wearing a gorgeous red dress, her hair stacked on top of her head in an elegant up-do.

"We're underdressed," Steve immediately stated, suddenly self-conscious in his khakis and light blue, short-sleeved button-up. Next to him, Bucky was wearing dark jeans topped with a clean white undershirt beneath a dark leather jacket.

"Nonsense," Pepper exclaimed as she stepped to the side and motioned for them to come in, somehow without spilling any of the very full martini glass in her hand. "You both look wonderful. We're so glad you could make it."

"We're sorry you had to reschedule in the first place," Steve replied, shifting his stance uncomfortably.

"Oh hush you," Pepper quickly replied, pulling him into hug and kissing his cheek and leaving a smudge of lipstick as she did so. Bucky allowed himself to be pulled into a (thankfully) much-shorter hug but did openly scowl as he rubbed off her lipstick with the back of his hand.

Then Pepper took a step back and eyed them both critically, noticing how Bucky had gelled his hair back from his face while Steve had shaved off the beard he'd let grow over the last few weeks and spiked the top of his hair in its usual style instead of letting it lay limp. It was the most "normal" either of them had looked in a long time.

"Do you need anything else on your floor or in the therapy room?" she continued in lieu of commenting again on their appearances. "We could always—"

"Everything is fine," Bucky interrupted gently. "We can't thank you enough for all you're doing for us."

Pepper just fixed him with a look, silently reminding him of her answer when they'd had this discussion a few days back. It took a moment but then he nodded his gratitude.

"Shall we?" she asked, motioning toward the common area with her martini glass.

After both Steve and Bucky nodded, they set off toward the common area at a slow pace so Steve would be able to keep up.

"Is that the famous dip?" Pepper asked en route, tilting her head at the large tray Bucky was carrying.

Barnes nodded. When he'd found out that Tony had rescheduled the party, he'd again volunteered to bring the 11-layer dip, determined to recreate the one they'd eaten at Sam's party. Because Steve could only walk in short bursts though, they caved to the marvels of the 21st century and had the ingredients delivered. He'd followed the most-likely recipe on the Internet perfectly but it had been so terrible that Steve had practically diven for the carton of milk and drank almost half of it before stopping for breath. After reordering the main ingredients, Bucky had then been forced to improvise, augmenting the recipe to improve the taste. Finally, after the fourth batch, he'd managed to find a combination that was _almost_ as good as the one they'd eaten at Sam's party.

"And what are those?" Pepper inquired, motioning to the box Steve was holding.

"Chocolate chip cookies," Rogers grinned, waving the box in front of her face so the scent could permeate, knowing they were her favorite. "Fresh baked."

"I knew there was a reason we invited the two of you," Pepper laughed.

By this time, they had just reached the main room where the extended team and their significant others were milling around, engrossed in conversation. "Look who I found!" Pepper announced, gesturing at the two supersoldiers.

Seconds later, the partygoers mobbed around them and Steve and Bucky were passed from hug to hug, amidst the many "You both look great"s, "Glad to see you up and about"s, "How are you both doing"s and, from Jane's intern whose name Bucky still couldn't quite remember, "Why on earth did you let him shave?". Even though most of the team had been around for a majority of their recovery process, they did all have their own jobs to attend to and were gone more often than not. Besides, this was also the first time he and Steve had been to this area of the Tower for reasons that didn't involve physical therapy or forced relaxation.

As the crowd let up, Sam stepped forward, shaking Steve's hand in their way that ended with clasped fists pointing finger guns at each other before pulling him into a side-hug. "Good to see you without crutches!" he exclaimed before he turned to Barnes. "I'm liking the hairdo," he added as he mimed running his fingers through his hair.

"You wish you had hair as nice as mine," Bucky shot back with a wide grin.

Sam shrugged. "No argument here," he responded, which sent the rest of the crowd into a collective nod of agreement.

"Please excuse the interruption," JARVIS' voice resonated from the ceiling. "But dinner is ready. I've been informed it is not as good if you let it cool."

"You heard the man," Tony said, leading the way into the dining area which was set with more flatware, utensils and glasses than Bucky had seen in any one store.

Dinner was as wonderful as the AI had implied, though Bucky had yet to eat a meal prepared by the SI chefs that wasn't amazing. Though everyone complained they were too full for dessert, the dip disappeared very quickly, along with the cookies and the other sweets the guests had brought.

Afterwards, most of the team sat down at the recessed area to catch up while Sam talked Steve into a game of pool. Though Steve usually won these games handily, Sam was convinced that Steve's limited mobility would garner him an advantage. They'd asked Bucky to play too but he knew better than to challenge Steve in a game based on physics and angles. He lassoed Clint into playing for him instead, knowing the archer would level the playing field, and leaned against the bar, not wanting to join the main conversation lest it turn to his recovery and how well he was doing. The sentiment was nice but he more appreciated just being part of the group again, as if nothing had happened.

He popped the top off a beer with one of the plates in his hand then sucked it down while watching Steve hop around the pool table on one leg, his left hand never leaving the wooden edge and Clint and Sam instinctively and not-so-subtly migrating toward Steve's side of the table in case he fell.

Despite that, it was the most fun Bucky'd seen any of them have in weeks.

"He's going to be fine, you know," Natasha said from right beside him. Barnes fought back the urge to jump in surprise and instead shifted positions nonchalantly, as if he'd heard her approaching.

"I know," he fired back, taking another long pull of his beer.

She arched one eyebrow at him in disbelief. "Then why are you staring at him like he's going to spontaneously combust?"

"I am not," Bucky replied indignantly. After a second to review his situation, he scowled. "Okay, maybe I am," he conceded.

"C'mon Bucky." Natasha linked her arm in his and led him to the sitting area, where the rest of the partiers were gathered. "I've got just the thing."

"Bucky wants to lift Mjölnir," she announced as they stepped inside the couch barrier. The rest of the conversations instantly stopped, all eyes turning to the two newcomers.

Biting down the panic that flared within him, Barnes held up his index finger, signalling that he needed a moment, and spun in the other direction, taking Natasha with him since their arms were still intertwined.

"I _what_?" he hissed as soon as their backs were to the other guests.

"C'mon," she whispered back. "It'll be fun. Get your mind off all this, even if it's just for a little while. Besides, no one has lifted it yet and I want to see how Thor reacts if you did."

"But I'm not worthy."

She shot him a calculating look. "That's not for you to decide, is it?"

It was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard (with all the people he'd killed over the years there was no way he'd be worthy) but she narrowed her eyes slightly at him, daring him to argue with her. "Sure. I'll try to lift the thing," he deadpanned after a pause, more for her enjoyment than his.

Her face immediately brightened. "Great!" Then she spun them around again so they faced the expectant team. "He wants to try to lift Mjölnir," she repeated, sliding her arm out of his and taking a seat next to Laura on the couch.

Thor looked at Bucky with a surprisingly scrutinizing expression and Barnes resisted the urge to stand straight up, throw his shoulders back and clasp his hands together. After a long moment, the god finally nodded approvingly. "A worthy contender," he stated without an ounce of sarcasm.

Thor then turned to Jane, taking her small hands in his and arranging his expression into the textbook definition of pleading.

"Al-right," the astrophysicist grumbled after a long moment, throwing up her hands as if this were a discussion they'd had repeatedly in the past. Thor leaned over to kiss her, then launched himself over the back of the couch, heading toward the entryway where he had stowed Mjölnir upon arrival.

"I just thought it might be nice if his hammer wasn't the center of attention for once," she explained to the rest of room.

Hill choked on a handful of bar mix and Darcy actually spat out her drink, but the rest of the guests tried to hide their reaction in a more discreet manner, laughing behind their hands or into someone else's shoulder.

Jane stared at all of them in confusion, quietly repeating her words back to herself, realization washing over her features when she realized what she had said. She grabbed a handful of pretzels from the bowls on the center table and threw them at her friends. "Children, all of you," she groaned, shaking her head in a mixture of disgust and amusement.

"Please tell me you got that on tape, JARVIS," Tony gasped through barely contained mirth. Pepper glared at him and elbowed him in the side, sending him doubling over, this time for real.

They all looked down when they heard a soft beeping and saw Dum-E zoom past, dustpan in hand.

Jane immediately sobered. "I'm sorry, Dum-E," she said, petting the top of his claw as he cleaned up the pretzels. The bot preened at the contact, chirping happily, then sped off to empty the dustbin.

On his way out, he almost ran straight into Thor, who quickly stepped aside to let him past. "Excited little fella, isn't he?" the god commented as he flipped Mjölnir effortlessly through the air in a vertical circle then placed it on the table. He took one step back then gestured grandly to it, looking pointedly at Bucky.

After a brief pause, Barnes stepped toward the low table, painfully aware of the silence in the room. From the lack of pool balls colliding and friendly banter, he knew even Sam, Steve and Clint had stopped their game to watch.

Bucky wiped his hands on his pants then carefully gripped the handle of the hammer, feeling an odd tingling in his fingers.

"Here goes nothing," he muttered as he pulled with all his strength.

* * *

 **That's all folks! It's up to you to decide whether he can lift it or not!**

 **Up next is a combined prompt for Doppelgangers for _OUAT_ and _Hansel & Gretel Witch Hunters, _followed by either an origin story for the Ambulance (ie: the circumstances that led it to its current state) or a Bucky!cap one-shot in the weeks following _Ambush_ while Steve heals. Hope to see you then!**

 **Thanks for your wonderful support on this adventure!**

 **usa123**


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